


A Night In A Gothic Mansion

by K_Popsicle



Category: True Blood (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Dubious Consent, Gothic, Horror, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Serial Killers, Smut, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Popsicle/pseuds/K_Popsicle
Summary: Dr Jason Stackhouse makes his way to a village to try and solve a spat of murders and stays at Northman Mansion overnight.
Relationships: Eric Northman/Jason Stackhouse
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team





	A Night In A Gothic Mansion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



Jason arrives at the mansion after nightfall and pounds on the door to be admitted. The servant that answers only cracks the door a little, so Jason smiles his brightest most disarming smile. It doesn’t work.

“What do you want?” The old man demands, he has a thick accent, thinning hair, a gaunt face, and a scowl to match.

“I’m expected,” Jason tosses his head to shake some of the clinging snow out and holds up the bags in his hands as if to explain. The servant takes a few minutes to consider this and Jason waits as more snow drifts onto the driveway. By the morning there will be another foot on top of what’s already there.

“We’re expecting a doctor, you’re too young.”

Jason decides enough is enough and starts to push his way into the building. “While I appreciate the compliment,” he says as he does it, “my carriage couldn’t proceed up your drive so I’ve been walking for an hour in this storm and I am cold.”

The servant relents under Jason’s efforts and Jason steps inside to find the foyer is as cold as the outside. Perhaps colder. He drops his bags on the bare flagstones and holds his hand out to the servant, “Dr Jason Stackhouse, I was told I was expected.” He waits until the servant has done a little bow of apology and rung a bell for more staff before he drops his hand. It’s not abnormal for people to be in awe of him, but it’s still strange to him. He lets it go and stamps some warmth into his feet. “Now, a hot bath?” He’s been travelling all day to get here and the hour on foot has left him sweaty, cold, and generally worse for wear.

“As sir orders,” the old servant agrees with his head bowed down awkwardly. Jason feels a little put upon by the act, but does appreciate that all his things are picked up and carried away to his room, presumably, by some pretty maids.

Jason finds one of the maids pouring an urn the size of her chest into a big copper tub for him when he’s finally told his room is ready. There’s a fire in the grate, a bathtub waiting, and his clothes have been set out in the wardrobe.

The girl hesitates to leave even as he strips off his jacket and vest, and propriety demands he address her but he undoes his cuffs and the first few buttons of his shirt just to see how long until she puts on a brave face. Apparently that’s all it takes, a vee of chest on display and she’s saying quickly and warningly, “You shouldn’t be out so late, sir.”

“Oh,” he does stop for that, fingers itching to undo a few more buttons. “Why is that?”

She swallows, “There’s some- some bad things happening. In the village. People dying. Even Tammy-” then stops talking like she’s said too much.

Jason is curious about ‘Tammy’ but can see the girls clamming up. Instead of pushing her he says, “That’s why I’m here,” and pulls his shirt over his head. She’s gone by the time he can see again, but the bath is still hot and waiting for him which is probably the safer option.

Eric Northman is at the table when he’s led into dinner and Jason feels his spine straighten and that tingle spark warning in his stomach. It’s not a good start to a meal but the way Mr Northman smiles at him isn’t too bad.

“I thought you’d be older,” Jason says over his soup, and Mr Northman tilts his head like a predator looking at prey.

“You’re thinking of my father,” he says in the same accent as the doorman, “he passed away.”

“In the recent killings?” Jason knows to be cautious around the other man but he can’t help being intrigued. Probably that is more reason for him to be cautious, but the other man slouches in his chair like an indolent king, barely eating as he stares at Jason and Jason can’t look away.

“Killings?” Northman asks with derision, “The village has undergone a series of terrible accidents, but they were not murders.” Something like a compulsion passes through the room, something that slides over Jason and dissipates. He really, really, ought to be cautious of the other man if he’s going to be throwing those kind of tricks around. Instead Jason wonders how he could get closer to him, why the servants put him so far down the table that there’s space for two other guests between them.

“Well,” Jason smiles, “I’d still like to look into them, professional pride if you will.”

“Of course,” Northman smiles at him indolently, and Jason tries not to think about the expressions he’d like to see on that perfect face.

Jason has spent the better part of his life building two reputations for himself, one as a doctor fixated on the macabre, and the other as a supernatural specialist. The second, of course, is not public knowledge. It’s not the public he has to worry about.

He goes to sleep thinking about Eric Northman and the quandary of good-looking men who may or may not be killing off people in local villages.

Jason wakes to a weight settling over him and comes to swinging wide. It’s not the pretty servant girl that’s for sure. Mr Northman, who is straddling Jason’s hips, takes the punch then turns his head back with a smile and blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Jason twists and reaches for the silver dagger from his nightstand only to find it gone and Northman holding it up for his own inspection.

“Nice knife,” Northman tests the edge slicing open the end of his own finger and Jason stares as three drops of blood seep out before the wound seems to pull itself together, “sharp.” He smiles indolently then pushes that finger into Jason’s mouth. The confused arousal at the unexpected visitor in his bed trips into fear and Jason hits the bastard in the jaw again dislodges the fingers, twists, unclips his wrist band and stabs up with the small concealed blade he keeps on him even at night. It goes in through Northman’s throat and Jason has a moment to feel both satisfied and horrified before Eric Northman tilts his head down to meet Jason’s eyes. He barely looks annoyed.

Jason makes another desperate move to cut further but he’s lost momentum and Northman catches his hand in a bond crushing grip and says, “I’d rather you didn’t.” Then uses Jason’s own grip to pull the blade out and pushes the bloody blade up against Jason’s own throat in warning. “I’d ask you nicely, but you’re not really interested in nice, are you?”

Jason glares at the man sitting on him and refuses to answer.

“Good, I like doing things the hard way,” Northman’s tone barely changes under its heavily accent, but his expression becomes eager. Jason feels himself respond to it, body tightening, heart pumping, and the world narrowing down to this single moment. Then Northman drags his right hand through the blood that’s dripped out of his healed throat and pressed three of them against Jason’s lips.

Jason bulks, but feels the bite of his own blade, feels the stare of those blue eyes and slowly lets his mouth fall open. Northman slides his fingers in slowly, the pads of them rubbing and pressing down against Jason’s tongue. The flavour of blood is heavy, the feel of the fingers big and choking, and Northman pushes them in deeper and deeper until Jason whimpers and the fingers pull out with a long caress against his tongue. He breathes, staring up at the man and tries to tell himself it isn’t the time to be turned on, but he is, and he’s already hard against the press of the other man’s spread thighs.

“Now,” Northman begins amiably, “lets discuss this like men, no more knives,” he looks at the two, the silver one he’d set out of arms reach and the little one still cutting a warning against Jason’s throat and sighs happily, “well not right now anyway.”

He discards Jason’s’ small blade with a casual flick of his wrist that sends it across the room and into the wall.

Jason takes the opportunity, lunges up, grabs the other man’s throat and bucks him onto the other side of the bed. There’s a tangle of limbs and hands as he tries to get the upper hand and Northman scrambles with him, rips at their clothes, locks their legs, and Jason isn’t sure where he’s hands are until the man under him arches up into his grip with a push of his hips. Jason stares down in shock, because he’s got his hand wrapped around Mr Northman’s cock and it’s so thick his fingers barely meet. His mouth goes dry as he pulls and presses at it, testing out the weight of it, the feel of smooth skin and warm flesh.

Northman throws his head back, he doesn’t have a mark on him, he’s healed any injuries Jason laid into him and the curve of his neck as he presses back into the lush pillows of the bed makes Jason want to bite on it. Try again to leave a mark, but this time with a different method. He falters, surprised by his distraction, confused where it’s coming from.

“Don’t over think it, Stackhouse,” Northman grits out as Jason twists his hand just so, “we’ve got more important things to do.” Which means he should think about it more, but there’s a cock in his hand, and a body laid out below him that’s gorgeous, willing, so very clearly dangerous.

“Jason,” he corrects on another pull along the thick length.

Northman smiles with a peak of sharp teeth, inhuman teeth and says, “You can call me Mr Northman,” so Jason lets go of him on principle. Good looking or not, magic creature or not, he has his limits. “Eric,” the man groans unhappily.

Then Jason finds his dagger. It’s sitting on the bedspread next to Eric’s hip, completely forgotten in his own lust. He picks it up, Northman catches his hand, their eyes meet, and then Eric’s tugging him down by the back of his neck into a kiss that’s filthy and obscene. Jason falls into it overwhelmed by the slick slide of tongue and teeth. He feels the other man move him, puts him back on his back, and he doesn’t care as long as he keeps touching him. As if he knows this Eric draws back, Jason’s lip caught softly between his teeth in a slow drag that he releases just before it becomes painful then sits up. He presses the knife back to Jason’s throat, and Jason stops chasing the other man’s mouth.

“What are you?” He asks low and breathless, knocked sideways by everything that’s happening.

“Can’t you guess? You’re famous you know, it’s why I invited you into my home, Dr Jason Stackhouse,” he angles the knife, catches the edge of Jason’s night shirt and cuts it open in a smooth glide. Jason can feel the tip of the blade as it runs down his chest the material splitting like butter under a hot knife. His breath catches and stutters at the caress.

“You’re not a succubus,” Jason says, “I’ve felt their effect before.” Northman finishes his cut at the hem of the night shirt and with the edge of the knife hr slowly parts the material exposing Jason’s bare figure. He expects a hand, skin, something, but the man towering over him simply rests the flat edge of the blade on his abdomen and presses it in firmly.

“Go on,” he teases, and his lips part to show those too sharp fangs. Jason makes a little noise of protest at the torture, and reaches up to Eric who slaps his hand down quickly. Jason glares at that too.

“You’re not a shapeshifter, or a werewolf,” Northman curls his lip at their mention of the second and Jason gets bored of the game, “You’re a killer,” he accuses, “those people in the village-“

“Boring,” Eric sneers, and in one quick flick of his wrist he’s cut a line across Jason’s chest, close to his right nipple. The sting takes a few seconds the register, a few seconds more for the thin cut to slowly start to bleed.

He feels the spike of fear, the flush of arousal. His breathing becomes shallow, his eyes tracking the man on him. Eric Northman is tall and narrow but every piece of him is built like a predator, not a piece of fat on him, just muscle and muscle and more muscle. Jason wants to trace them with his tongue the same way he wants to see how much of the cock rubbing against him he can fit into his mouth.

Then slowly, seriously, Northman leans his mouth down to Jason’s chest and licks the trickle of blood. He pulls back, blood on his lips again but this time it’s Jason’s.

Jason puts the pieces together even as he feels a second cut being opened, this one lower on his chest. Quick cuts, precise, like Northman’s done this before, many times. Thousands of times. “You’re a vampire,” he says on a hitching breath as Eric sucks lightly on the new cut trying to draw more blood out of the wound. Jason curls his fingers into the man’s hair and neither draws him closer or pulls him away. He knows he should, knows he’s in danger- has been since he walked into the mansion, but he’s hot, hard, and the fear and arousal have swirled together into a potent aphrodisiac that makes him want to ride the waves of desire and see where they land.

“And you,” Eric says, pulling back, lips redder and pupils blown, “are not human.”

Jason doesn’t have time to even think before the knife is cutting lower, slicing a stinging a line along the curves of him, over his hip bone and down to into the vee of his legs. He tenses when the knife gets close to where his hard and desperate but the knife lifts from his skin without making contact. He’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. It does nothing to stem his arousal.

“But whatever you are,” Northman traces the line of Jason’s throat with longer finger, “you are delicious.” Then he bends his long back to trace the new wound with his tongue, taking in every drop as it slides into the dips of Jason’s muscles.

Jason makes a pained noise when Eric bypasses the last of the cuts and takes his cock into his mouth. It doesn’t take much, he’s worked up past sense, even though he hasn’t been touched, even though everything seems sideways, Mr Northman’s mouth sucking on him, moving around him, makes him come apart in minutes. His hips push up into that warm cavern, chasing pleasure at the expense of all reason. When he releases it’s with a cry that must carry through the corridors on the cold silent mansion and he is so lost he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that the servants know, he doesn’t care that the man crawling up his body has killed numerous people, that he might kill him. All he cares about is the taste of the other man’s mouth, the feel of the other man’s body, the press of the other man’s fingers and cock as he takes him apart piece after piece after piece.

Jason wakes in another room, the thick curtains are pulled closed, the fire banked, and the body next to his is warm. His body is sore, used, but he feels calm, centred. He doesn’t leave the bed until nature insists on it, and once he’s up he realises he’s hungry. Tentatively he dresses in clothes that are too big for him, rolling up pant legs and sleeves. Mr Northman is a vampire and shouldn’t wake until nightfall, it gives him more than enough time to find some food, take a warm bath to relax the strain of his tired muscles, and figure out what the hell he is going to do now.


End file.
